


Complicated

by KorrohShipper



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Day 6, F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steggy - Freeform, Steggy Week 2019, steggyweek2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 09:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: Peggy has a complicated relationship with her husband's facial hair.





	Complicated

**Author's Note:**

> **Day 6 (Saturday): Tropes, Cliches, Symbols, and Associations**

“Hey, Peg, what do you think?”

It all started with a shit-eating smirk on Steve Roger’s face akin to the burst of confidence he had the gall to flash at her when he held his shield up for the first time in Howard Stark’s workshop in Italy. The very same smile that earned his shield the four dents from when she shot at him.

They were getting ready for a gala, a big dog and horse show for the top brass in the government to sell them on the new intelligence agency she’s been setting up to launch.

Peggy Carter has a plan in mind, she was already putting the finishing touches to her ensemble when her husband, the cheeky wanker that he is, called out for her and asked for her opinion on his attire.

He looked resplendent in a black tux, his hair swept neatly to a side, back to its pristine military neatness. It should be made a crime, however, Peggy thinks to herself, to look this desirable. But, as much as she wanted to satisfy herself with the view of her husband looking deliciously perfect— _and wonderfully hers_ —in front of her, her eyes zeroed in on the darkness that crept along his jawline.

“Are you not going to shave, darling?” she asked, tone pointed with an edge, and he had the audacity to grin at her.

“Should I?” he feigned innocence, and she wanted nothing more than to smack him right in the head.

Peggy would never admit this to anybody, but she has a complicated relationship with Steve’s facial hair. The most accurate description to her conflict is a love-hate relationship—she loves to hate it and absolutely hated that she loved it to the point that she couldn’t function without it. Frankly, it's a secret she's willing to take to the grave.

It all started when Steve came back to her, all weary and haggard from a distant journey that brought him back to her life in 1949. They had been at the automat, sneaking little touches to one another in the minutes following their reunion.

At first, it was meant to be just that—small touches, fingers trailing softly at each other’s skin to assure the other is truly there and not just a wicked, cruel apparition their minds could conjure in the heat of vulnerability.

But things never go according to plan. At least, not with them.

Every chance of contact, no matter how small, seemed to ignite a fire they’ve long thought dormant under their skins. Every touch felt too much and too little all at once. It didn’t take long for her to understand the darkness that loomed within both their eyes.

They didn’t last long—the cab ride to the room he’s rented at the Plaza (how he got the money to rent a suite, she would never know) had been tortuous enough and the minute they were properly situated in the darkness of the room, the door shut behind them, not a second was wasted.

His lips were on hers in a flash, and while it lived up to her expectation and more, she couldn’t help but be breathless when they pulled away to shimmy out of their clothes. The skin around her mouth had protested, at first, but she realized it had nothing to do with the lack of his lips on her.

Her chin itched, her cheeks felt red and hot from a whole different reason. It felt raw, and she could feel a patch of roughness that lurked on her face. It was utterly uncomfortable, how it lingered on her face, but a part of Peggy couldn’t help but want it back.

And whatever afterthought she had in mind disappeared when strong arms snaked around her again and lifted her off her feet. On instinct and urgent reflex, her legs wrapped around his waist and clung to him as if life depended on it.

A brief of moment of logic danced around her thoughts when he carried her over to the bed, her legs still wrapped around him as he dangled near the edge. Whatever thought that seemed to occupy her mind had disappeared into oblivion the moment his head sunk into her thighs, and the short reply she had readied herself to say was replaced by breathy moans of his name and bouts of the word _yes_ in increasing volume _._

The morning afterwards, her skin was red and blotchy from irritation. But for finally bedding Steve Rogers, she mused with a satisfied smile on her face as she sunk deeper into his embrace lounging lazily upon the Plaza’s now broken bed, love-drunk on the soreness all over, she resolved that it was a small price to pay for salvation.

A price that she’s willingly paid time and time again.

But he knew what it brought her, both the pleasure of his scruffy jawline and its less than ideal aftermath—and he had the audacity to look smug about it.

"I think it looks good, Peg."

She rolled her eyes. "I'd rather not have the senate think I'm housing a homeless Yankee under my roof. Darling, we're trying to remind them of my sound judgement to run an intelligence agency, not dissuade them of it."

Peggy tried her best not to pay him any mind. She really did—even went back to applying her make-up, but Steve appeared behind her and leaned down, his stubble-clad cheek pressed against the side of her head. 

Like the lady she is, she ignored him and the way she felt her body shiver with familiar anticipation. "I'm sure they'd be much more interested in Colonel Phillips' input compared to my housing conditions."

"Shave it," she hissed back.

He backed up, a look of challenge crossed his face. "You sure about that?" he gazed at her through the mirror.

She glanced back at him through the mirror, unfazed. "Positive."

Steve walked away and disappeared into the door frame of their en suite bathroom. In the background, she could hear the faucet running. "Whatever you say, Peg!" he called out, muffled by the walls.

That should have been the end of it. It really should have been. 

Only if the rest of her body got the memo and stopped sending tremors of chills at the thought of a scruff stubble or a full beard heatedly pressed against her. Of his mouth leaving a trail of heated, lingering kisses as he would work from top down, slowly making his way to where she would ache for him most and he would—

"Steve!" she raised her voice, and soon enough, his head poked out of the bathroom door. 

"Yeah?"

She hastily stood up and gave him her best no-nonsense look. "We're going to be late."

"Really now?" the shit-eating grin broke across his face again. "Whatever you say."

Peggy waved him off, allowing him to cross the distance between them and press his body against hers. "Oh, tush. You know bloody well how difficult it is to explain to the government should they find out I've been housing a national institution." She did not stand down. Instead, she eyed him carefully, as though inspecting his face. "A beard will help cover nicely."

Steve, the wanker he is, wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, hon." In his eyes held a suggestion that most certainly did _not_ involve sleeping at night, though in his defense, it did help them tire after a number of rounds. Whatever little hours of sleeping to be done was going to be, decidedly, in the early hours of morning after a vigorous exercise of what _isn't sleeping_ at night.

At that, she couldn't help but smirk back. He could not have the last laugh. "Oh, the bed, certainly—something you won't have for later, darling."

Her husband wasn't at all fazed. "I'm sure I can come up with a pretty good negotiation." 

Wiggling out of his hold, Peggy held her chin up high and allowed an extra sway to her hips, knowing full well he was watching after her as she trailed to the end of the room and clutched the bedroom door.

"It better be worth it, Captain."


End file.
